How Are You Supposed to Feel at 50?
The Medicare card arrived in the mail on an ordinary day and I stood there and cried.
It had my name on it. Not my mother’s name. Not my father’s name. Mine. And I just kept thinking — I’m not old. Growing up, Medicare cards belonged to old people. People with gray hair and slower steps and a whole life already behind them.
Then I looked in the mirror.
Nobody tells you that 50 and 60 and 65 will feel like this from the inside. Not old. Not done. Just you, still yourself, holding a laminated card that says otherwise.
The Math That Stopped Me Cold
My mother passed away in 2019. She was 79.
I drove home after the funeral and somewhere in the quiet of the following days, I started doing math I wasn’t prepared for.
I was 59, nearly 60. My mother had been 79. That’s twenty years between us.
Twenty years sounds like a long time until you start measuring it. I thought back to the year 2000. That didn’t feel that long ago. That was two presidential elections. That was how long I had been playing World of Warcraft. That was a stretch of time I could actually feel and remember.
And if I lived another twenty years, I’d be nearly 80.
That thought didn’t send me into a spiral. But it did something quieter and more lasting. It made the time feel real in a way it hadn’t before. Not scary exactly. Just finite. And finite changes how you spend a Tuesday.
What Nobody Warned Me About
The parts of getting older that surprised me weren’t the physical ones. Those you expect. The parts that caught me off guard were the emotional ones nobody talks about at dinner parties or in birthday cards.
The circle gets smaller. Not all at once and not always because of death, though there’s been plenty of that. Parents go. Cats you loved deeply go. Work friendships that once felt permanent just quietly fade when the shared schedule disappears. I’ve lost three cats in a single year. I’ve lost both parents. I’ve lost the version of social life that came with having a workplace full of people.
What I have now is two friends I actually want to spend time with, a husband I’ve been married to for 25 years, and a handful of people I’ve met online who I genuinely like at a comfortable distance.
I used to think that would feel like failure. It doesn’t. It feels like clarity.
Three Cats Named Isis, Kiera, and Max
I want to tell you about three cats because I think they’re part of the answer to how it feels to be this age.
Isis was a white and gray Maine Coon with the loudest purr I have ever heard in my life. Non-stop. When I was going through chemotherapy and spent most of my days napping on the couch, she was right there beside me the entire time. Every nap. Every bad day. Just that purr, constant and warm.
Kiera was a smaller brown Maine Coon who required patience I didn’t always know I had. We had a rocky start — a well-meaning breeder advised me to syringe feed her wet food and I did it even though she hated it, and she held that against me for longer than I deserved. It took time to earn her trust back. But she eventually came around and in the end she would sit right next to me every single evening while I knit.
Max was a tiny cat found in the bushes outside my husband’s doctor’s office. A nurse had taken his photo trying to find him a home. My husband called me from the parking lot. I said bring him home. He was my husband’s cat from the moment he walked in the door and he knew it immediately.
We lost all three within a year of each other.
Grief is grief. The size of the creature doesn’t change the size of the hole.
What I’ve learned at this age is to stop apologizing for how much the small things matter. The purr of a cat settling into your lap while you knit. The way one of them always knew when you needed company. Those aren’t small things at all.
How are you Supposed to Feel at 50: What Actually Feels Different Now
At 50 I thought more maturity was coming. Some arriving-at-wisdom feeling where everything clicked into place.
What actually arrived was simpler and more useful than that.
I stopped caring whether I was doing this right.
A good day now looks like this: a cold 7-up in the morning, a swim at the neighborhood pool or out at Aquatica with my sister, planning a new recipe for dinner, knitting all evening without watching the clock. Lunch with my one knitting friend where we sit too long and nobody rushes. A cat on my lap heavy and purring while I watch something I actually want to watch.
I’m not performing enjoyment for anyone. I’m just having it.
The urgency that used to follow me around has mostly gone quiet. Unfinished projects don’t feel like failure anymore. Saying no to things I don’t want to do doesn’t require an explanation or a week of guilt.
I decided recently that I want to lose some weight. Not because I should. Not because someone made me feel bad about it. Just because I want to feel better in my body and on my own terms. That distinction turns out to matter more than any diet I’ve ever tried.
What I’d Tell Someone Who Just Turned 50
The question “how are you supposed to feel at 50” assumes there’s a right answer. There isn’t.
You might feel relieved. You might feel blindsided. You might cry holding a Medicare card in your kitchen on an ordinary afternoon and not be entirely sure why.
What I can tell you is that the things I was most afraid of at 50 turned out to be manageable. Loss is real and it accumulates and it changes you. The circle does get smaller. Time does start to feel different once you do the math.
But something else happens too.
You stop spending energy on things that were never worth it. You get better at knowing the difference. You put down your knitting when the cat climbs into your lap because you’ve learned that some things shouldn’t wait.
You figure out that a really good day doesn’t have to be a big one.
And that turns out to be enough. More than enough, actually.
Want to continue reading my story and find out how I learned to Start Something New after 50? Or Why I went back to visit my Grandma’s House 50 years later.
